


The Bride

by spinsters_grave



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dancing, F/M, I could have done so much for this prompt but i'm happy with what i have, I hope you like it!, I'm on a roll with straight ships recently what's the matter with me, mawwiage... we are gavered hewe today
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 19:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12195963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinsters_grave/pseuds/spinsters_grave
Summary: She almost got married to the wrong one.Prompt: Dancing





	The Bride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SakuraPetal91](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SakuraPetal91/gifts).



“You should clear out your closet,” Eileen suggested. She took another sip of her rosehip tea. “It’s not good to hold on to relics of the past.”

 

Mary scoffed. “What, did you read that on Pinterest?”

 

“As a matter of fact, I did,” Eileen said. She harrumphed. “Sorry for trying to help.”

 

“No, I appreciate it,” Colleen said. “Thank you for the offer. I’ll probably go about it this weekend, or sometime this week, maybe.”

 

“Of course, dear,” Eileen said. She had always been a tad condescending, but it was part of her charm, and Colleen would have her no other way.

 

It wasn’t that she regretted telling her friends she was ready to move on. It was that they wouldn’t stop _talking_ about it, giving her tips, business cards for therapists they insisted were so great.

 

It had been years. Colleen’s life had been filled with vengeance, anger, and so much sadness that sometimes it felt she was going through a hurricane. Just starting the book club with the only friends who really stayed with her had been a huge step forward. Colleen would admit to looking up tips on how to recover on Pinterest, too.

 

“We’ll see if we can’t get through chapter fifty-two next time,” Mary said, packing her briefcase. “My wife is waiting outside. Col, you need a ride?”

 

“I’m alright,” Colleen said. “I’ll catch the bus.”

 

Eileen and Mary shared a quick glance. Colleen pretended not to notice, but she did. She always did. Mary stepped forward to put a hand on Colleen’s shoulder.   
  
“Colleen. Alex and I would be more than happy to drive you home.”

 

Colleen couldn’t meet Mary’s eyes. She knew what Mary thought—all on her own, without a driver’s license or a steady job or a family—she was the perfect charity case. Mary and Eileen were all too happy to lend their support.

 

“I don’t know,” Colleen said. Yes, she was a charity case, but that only meant she needed the help—it just hurt too much to say so.

 

“I insist,” Mary said, in the gentle voice that was just impossible to resist.

 

* * *

 

“Thank you so much, Alex. Mary.” Colleen grabbed her cardigan and purse from the backseat and slipped five dollars into Mary’s hand with, “No, I insist. Mary, please. Just take it.”

 

“Thank you,” Mary said. “Next week, same time, same place?”

 

“You know it.”

 

Their car disappeared around the corner, leaving Colleen standing in front her one-story house in the suburbs that she and Sam had picked out all those years before, close to the Garrison, close to a good school district for the kids, enough bedrooms that they would all be comfortable. She didn’t say “I’m home” when she entered anymore.

 

Maybe what Eileen had said would help. Eileen had set up online dating profiles for her, uploaded Tinder on her phone, all the things—Colleen broke it to her _very gently_ that she was still married to Sam, and she would not look for any other romantic relationship at all. Eileen meant well, she did, and Colleen owed it to her to do at least _one_ thing she suggested.

 

Her bedroom loomed, indomitable, as did all the other bedrooms in the hallway. Colleen felt small before them.

 

Where had her fighting spirit gone? It hadn’t disappeared with Sam and Matt, nor with Katie, so it had no right to disappear now. She must perform with conviction or she would never be able to convince herself she was fine.

 

She grabbed her laptop and charger cable and brought them with her to the bedroom she shared with Sam. She had binge-watched the tv show Monk a few weeks back; the final episode where Monk finally moved on from the death of his wife and slept in the middle of the bed didn’t quite leave her.

 

With impatience, she loaded Youtube, put on a playlist of her classical songs. Squeaky violins drifted past her, the kind of music that made her friends ask her why she listened to it. She didn’t tell them it was because Matt and Katie both played in their high school orchestra, and Colleen had never gotten over their terrible renditions of the classics.

 

She started with Sam’s shoes. There was the hiking boots he used when they went to Yosemite, all the way across the state, and got halfway up Half Dome before giving up. The dress shoes he wore to Matt’s senior prom as a chaperone, where he and Colleen danced and danced like they were young again. The track shoes he wore in their church’s annual Fun Run—they had donated the proceeds to the Trevor Project.

 

They all went into a box. Colleen wasn’t sure what to do with them; hold a garage sale? Donate them to Goodwill?

 

He had a multitude of shirts, button-down or regular tees—that one he wore when he got that promotion, another when he showed Katie and Matt how to make good spaghetti sauce. Colleen took the whole shelf in her arms and dumped it into the damnable box.

 

She couldn’t lose herself in memories like this. She was strong, she was determined, she was _moving on,_ after years and years of hoping and waiting and searching.

 

Colleen ran her hand over the rows of suits and uniforms that hung up on their hangers. She should give those back to the Garrison—

 

The Garrison didn’t exist anymore. Colleen kept having to remind herself of that. It had fallen to rumors and speculations, and a new, brighter facility had sprung up somewhere in Colorado, near the old Air Force Academy. Or maybe it _was_ the old Air Force Academy. Colleen didn’t care enough.

 

Of its own accord, her hand stopped on something white and decorated with pearls. Colleen didn’t know what was happening. Her heart went tight, her eyes got wet—the playlist switched over to _Ave Maria_ performed by Andrea Bocelli, a better performance than what had gone on in her _wedding—and oh, her wedding._

 

* * *

 

“You look beautiful, baby,” the old man said, his face filling with tears. Men like him never cried. They shouldn’t; if they did, who knew what would happen? Colleen’s own face grew warm and tight, and she feared for the fate of her makeup.

 

“Daddy,” she whimpered. “Don’t cry, if you cry then I’m going to cry.”

 

“My beautiful baby girl, look at you,” he continued, heedless of her words. “Don’t you see? It is tradition, that the father of the bride bursts into tears on the wedding day. I’ll have to borrow your mother’s handkerchief.”

 

“Daddy….”

 

Her father embraced her across the backseat. Colleen’s veil crinkled in his shoulder, and she could smell his sweat through his tuxedo; still, she loved it.

 

“We’re here,” the driver said, unnecessarily.

 

Colleen shifted back, keeping one hand on her father’s shoulder to steady herself. Her makeup wrinkled when she smiled at him.

 

“I love you, darling,” he said. Colleen watched as he left the car and got the door for her.

 

_This is it._ Colleen’s hand found her father’s, white satin that belonged to her grandmother. Something old. Her father pulled her out of the car and into a hug.

 

“You can always say no,” he whispered in her ear. The driver pulled away to park.

 

Colleen stifled a small laugh. “I love him, Dad.”

 

“I don’t want to lose you.” Tears glinted dangerously in the corners of his old eyes. “You’re my baby girl!”

 

“You won’t lose me.”

 

The door to the church opened. Mary, the maid of honor, gestured for Colleen and her father to get ready. She and Colleen fussed over their dresses, while Colleen’s father watched, clueless in the affairs of women.

 

“It’s time,” Mary whispered. “Are you ready?”

 

“Of course,” Colleen whispered back. She kissed Mary on the cheek. “Bouquet?”

 

“Right,” Mary said. She grabbed the bundle of flowers from a side table and presented them to Colleen. The church organ pumped notes through the air— _Ave Maria._ Colleen remembered it from her aunt’s marriage.

 

Mary kissed Colleen on the cheek once more, for luck. She gathered her own bundle of flowers and slipped through the grand doors leading into the main cathedral.

 

Colleen gripped her father’s hand tight in her grandmother’s old satin gloves. There was no need for words.

 

Stately—as they had in the rehearsal—Colleen walked down the aisle, hand in hand with her father. Her eyes fell onto the entire reason she was here, the only person in the church who mattered. Sam’s eyes crinkled at her, and to the left of him, David bobbed on his heels. A smile crossed his face for a second.

 

Colleen hid a smile behind her veil. Her shoes stepped over the rose petals—the something new, and the penny in her shoe. It was a little uncomfortable under her heel, and she walked with a slight limp, but no one noticed.

 

The shrine of the Virgin Mary loomed in front of her. There was something comforting in that face, the statue clothed in blue praying for her and her happiness. She and David would be happy together. He said he had prayed for this day for ages.

 

Colleen bowed her head to ask the Virgin Mary for blessings upon her marriage. She and David had talked about what she would think in that moment; what she would imagine, envision. 401k, house in the suburbs, two beautiful children, the world the discover.

 

_David is going to dump your ass, girl._ Colleen shrugged off the thought. It must have been just wedding day jitters. Everyone was nervous on their wedding day. It didn’t mean anything.

 

Besides, David would never leave her at the alter. He was a true stand-up guy. Colleen could depend on him. Most of her friends approved of him—her father, her family. She had made the right choice. She kept trying to convince herself that she had made the _right choice._

 

Colleen finished her prayer at the feet of the Virgin Mary. As the priest led everyone in hymns and prayers, she couldn’t take her eyes off of the man in front of her—and yet, he couldn’t take his eyes off of anything _but_ her. It had to be wedding day jitters.

 

She _wanted_ this. She really did. David would be good to her for the rest of her life. And Sam—well, she would see Sam all the time, wouldn’t she? He and David worked together, lived in the same apartment block. They would have dinners together, maybe when Sam got _married,_ which, he shouldn’t get married, because—because she didn’t want him to get married to anyone else but her, and she really shouldn’t be thinking about anything like this when she was getting married to David, should she?

 

“Please stand,” the priest said, “for the recital of the vows.”

 

Already? She had just walked through the door, just agreed to marry David, just saw Sam’s crushed emotions splayed out on the floor between them as she explained _It’s what my parents wanted, I’m so sorry Sam, I would have chosen you if I could._

 

“I, David Machiavich, take Colleen Sampson to be my wife. I promise to be good to you, in sickness and in health. I will—”

 

The silence rebounded in the tall, vaulted ceiling of the church, the kind that was hard to find in the States.

 

“I will—” David tried again.

 

The standing audience craned their necks, trying to see over other people’s shoulders. Colleen had a front row seat to the whole human disaster. Emotions washed over David’s face like a hurricane.

 

“I can’t,” David croaked out, one trembling hand covering his mouth—that’s what liars do. “I’m sorry, Colleen, _I can’t marry you!”_

 

Like the silence, the phrase echoed, volleyed off the gothic arches and shot into Colleen’s ears a million times a second. _Can’t marry you can’t marry you marry you marry you you you…._

 

“Okay,” Colleen said, because there was nothing else to say. “I’m sorry, David.”

 

“You—” Spittle flew out of the corners of David’s mouth. Colleen pretended not to notice. “You—”

 

“I,” Collen said. She turned her gaze towards Sam, who despite what was happening before his eyes, looked like a starving man who had just been handed a loaf of bread. “I am not listening to you anymore, David.”

 

“Oh,” David said, a little helplessly. He sank to sit on the hard stone of the church floor. “Okay.”

 

Colleen had a clear view of Sam now. Behind her veil, where no one could see her, she smiled. Sam grinned as well, the crooked one that she loved so much, that would be one of her favorite parts about them even as they grew old together, although there were so many good parts of the man for her to choose from.

 

“Colleen Sampson,” Sam said, confident, loud, and clear, the name zinging (do people still say zinging? Colleen thought. Probably not)—the name hurtling through the air, though not enough times for Colleen to appreciate the feeling it produced when it hit her eardrum. He bent down on one knee, and from the tiny ring bearer—David’s little cousin—he grabbed her promised ring and held it aloft.

 

“Will you marry me?”

 

* * *

 

“I do,” Colleen said, hands clasped tightly in Sam’s own. Their blessed rings sat bright and gleaming and heavy on their fingers. Colleen tilted her hand back and forth, admiring the sparkle.

 

“You may now exchange a kiss,” the priest said, and it was perfect.

 

Colleen let the blessings wash over her; murmured words from the priest before them. She kept her lips on Sam’s as long as she could. He had put on tasteless chapstick, as they do, and thus his lips were nice and soft and not chapped at all. When she pulled back, she grinned—some of her pink lipstick had rubbed off, and she must admit, Sam looked better that way.

 

“Please join me in the Lord’s Prayer,” the priest declared to the audience at large. Colleen looked at Sam, knowing the dopey smile on his face was reflected onto hers, and murmured the words along with the rest of the congregation as they recited the holy words.

 

“Peace be with you,” the priest said to Colleen and Sam, and shook both of their hands in turn.

 

“Thanks be to God.”

 

* * *

 

Colleen danced with her husband—her husband!—first, and with her father second. The old man whisked her away, shooting a disapproving glare at Sam, at which Colleen laughed and scolded him for. “He’s my husband now. Your little girl is a big woman.”

 

“You will always be my little girl,” her father said, a smile pushing his face into something loving, smile wrinkles and fat cheeks and everything. “Come, dance with your father.”

 

Colleen couldn’t place the tune. She supposed it didn’t matter—the music spoke to her, and nameless or not, it would stay with her forever. Her father’s dance. During the ceremony, he had honked loudly into his own wife’s handkerchief, not just once but several times. Such a crybaby. The world did not fall apart when fathers cried.

 

Colleen placed her head on her father’s shoulder. Like that spring day only a few months ago, in the close warm of a car with leather seats, she could smell his sweat through his tuxedo. She didn’t mind. It was just a part of him—her father, with his monthly cigar and fine wine and sweat that smelled through his tuxedo on his daughter’s winter wedding night.

 

As the light fell outside, the dance went on; cake was cut, buffets were laid out, some alcohol was served but not enough to make anyone but that one aunt and that one uncle drunk. Colleen felt _alive._

 

A warm hand touched her shoulder, the weight of bright yellow gold resting on the finger like it was ready to belong but didn’t, not quite yet. Colleen whirled around and hugged Sam’s waist.

 

“Dance with me?” Sam whispered into Colleen’s ear. She hummed and rocked back and forth, in rhythm with the music. It didn’t come out of an organ this time; the DJ had put speakers in spots around the dance floor, and it pumped out of those, when it pumped. It didn’t pump for the time being, while Sam whirled Colleen onto the dance floor, one had clasped in hers, the other resting on her waist.

 

“One more before we hit the hotel,” Colleen murmured. In her heels, she stood slightly taller than Sam, and took the advantage to smirk down at him, not caring how bad she must have looked.

 

Sam grinned back at her. “Listen to the song.”

 

Colleen looked up, at the dizzying fluorescent lights of the dining hall. “No, you didn’t,” she whispered, not daring to quite believe it.

 

“I did indeed.” If Sam was a peacock, he would be flashing his feathers right about now.

 

“Waltz of the Flowers, you _vixen,”_ Colleen said, breathless, exactly in time for the music to kick in and for Sam to sweep her off her feet. She laughed, just as breathlessly as her _vixen._

 

They swung side to side—Sam was not the best waltzer, but the _Um pa pa_ was as familiar to Colleen as breathing. She gently took the lead from Sam and lead them around the dance floor—the rest of the guests had cleared out, leaving enough room for Colleen’s dress to swirl around her, though Colleen hardly noticed. The entire world was Sam Holt, right in front of her face, and the bright future they would have together, with the entire world to discover together, and more than this earth, too.

  
  


END

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pwp1CH5R-w4 : Ave Maria
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QxHkLdQy5f0 : Waltz of the Flowers
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this.


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